Her eyes, they pierced me through and through,
Were seeking something solid, true,
Till when she said, “I think you’ll do;
My soul is yours to draw.”

Exulted I, though showed it not,
Just stood there, having won the spot—
That then was flame, and burned so hot
It made my hand a law.

I drew her down on paper white,
My pencil guided by her sight,
And by my own uplifted might,
Inspired by what I saw.

I saw the height and light of day,
Beginnings of the month of May,
And justice, that was glad to pay
For what I was and saw.

Saw I then, too, her selfish mind,
That through her wants is never blind,
But seeks and seeks until she find,
And to herself in-draw.

The drawer and the drawn are in;
We handle it as sculptured win;
For yes, although the paper’s thin,
We’re linked without a flaw!

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